Lightoller and the Flamethrower
by Thrae Elddim
Summary: Summary: It called to him, like a moth to the flame that spurted out the end of its long barrel. The power in it's long, slim profile, the tank that was the perfect size to balance it out. It was perfect. And it was Fleet's. But always, Lightoller would be there waiting. Total crack inspired by "The Invasion" by Leader of the Penguins. LightollerxFlamethrower one-shot.


Blame** Leader of the Penguins**. Blame it all on her. Every bit of it. Well, not every bit of it I suppose, because a little of the responsibility goes to** Elf Asato** and their series of insane Zelda pieces including "Sheik and the Mailbox." That being said, read their work. It is fabulous.

Also, this won't make much sense unless you read "The Invasion" by Leader of the Penguins. It's kind of a personal joke based on that, actually.**  
**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the rights to Titanic. I also mean no disrespect to the family of the Titanic crew and am sure that they would never act like this in real life. Also, many of you are probably relieved to read that I do not own a flamethrower, nor any rights to one.

* * *

From the second that he saw what it was capable of, Charles Lightoller was captivated. Who would have known that it was capable of spitting fire? Never had he seen such a thing before.

At first, he thought of it as simply another toy to play with when Fleet eventually got bored. The man couldn't stay focused on anything for more than a quarter hour before, so why would this be any different? Even if it did threaten to set everything around them ablaze.

But somehow, it kept Fleet's attention. His and Lightoller's.

Sometimes the others looked at Fleet and his flamethrower in envy. Every time it would roast another zombie out on the open deck, they looked. Sometimes they did even when there weren't any zombies.

Lightoller hated it. Only he was allowed to stare in envy! Only he was allowed to wish that he could caress it's long barrel and pull it's trigger! Lowe and Moody could go bugger their cricket bat and chainsaw, for all the good it would do them!

Sometimes it seemed like Mr. Andrews suspected something. He was an observant little bugger, always seeing everything. Usually Lightoller thought of it as a good quality in a person. Now he wished that the ship builder wasn't quite so attentive. It was uncomfortable.

While he was unashamed of his want for the flamethrower (that gorgeous, fiery minx!) he didn't want everyone to know just how much he wanted it. Just a chance to touch it, even. He wouldn't even need to turn it on to be satisfied with it, if only he could get the chance!

The possibility came at least twice an hour. As they crept around the liner, Lightoller was ashamed to admit that sometimes he thought about tripping Fleet in the middle of battle. Or locking him in a closet with a zombie and sans flamethrower. He wasn't about to be picky. However he could finally get to be with his beloved, he would be happy with.

Oh, once upon a time he had loved his sledge hammer. It was so new and shiny, so perfect for smashing zombie skulls. How could he not have felt something for it?

Alas, that their love was brief! The sledge hammer was a wonderful partner in their grisly business, uncomplaining and capable. But it was no longer the one that Lightoller wanted. Their spark went out, and in his heart the flamethrower took it's place.

Still, they smashed skulls and walls and new cars alike. They would for as long as it took, however long it took. The flamethrower would be his eventually.

Lightoller grinned madly as his group entered the Cafe Parisian. It was packed with zombies, whose heads all turned at the sounds the living beings made as they entered the room. As one, they all let out gutteral moans and began shambling toward them.

Perhaps, just maybe, that time would be sooner rather than later. When he would have his beloved flamethrower, forever.

* * *

"Err, Lightoller, I need to talk to you," Mr. Andrews said with a grimace, tucking away his black notebook.

Their group (himself, Mr. Andrews, Rose, Tommy, Lowe, Lee, Boxhall and that damnable Fleet) had just cleared out the last of the cabins on A Deck. It impressed on all of them how massive Titanic really was, and how long it would actually take to clear the ship of the menace. The realization was sobering.

At the moment they were taking a breather in the first class lounge, Lowe and Boxhall with a glass each. Lightoller had, for once, eschewed alcohol. It would do no good to be intoxicated when they got moving again.

He was glad for it when Mr. Andrews said to him quietly, "Your fixation on Mr. Fleet is rather worrying, Mr. Lightoller."

If he had been drinking anything, he would have spat it out in surprise. Then again, seeing how that would have landed all over Mr. Andrews' face, perhaps it was lamentable that he didn't have a drink in hand. As it was, Lightoller tensed up uncomfortably.

"I'm not sure which way it runs, or even if it's just about the flamethrower, but we need you to stay sharp. At least until we get rid of this menace," Mr. Andrews continued, either not noticing or ignoring the Second Officer's discomfort, "Then you can do whatever you like with him, but it needs to wait until we've retaken the ship."

Lightoller almost burst out laughing. Mr. Andrews thought it was Fleet he was eyeing up so longingly! Relief flooded him, as did the urge to vomit. Keeping his thoughts (and sudden nausea) to himself, he focused on looking concerned and maybe even a little bit contrite.

"You understand, right?" Mr. Andrews asked, sharp eyes examining the officer. Finding nothing wrong, he clapped Lightoller on the shoulder and went off in the direction of Tommy, Lowe and Rose.

Weak kneed with relief, Lightoller stayed where he was leaning on the wall. No one knew. No one could know. Not until the flamethrower was in his possession, and by then their opinions wouldn't matter. He rubbed his eyes and heaved a sigh.

Wouldn't Fleet just get killed already?

So deep in his thoughts, he didn't realize he wasn't alone anymore until Boxhall whispered in his ear, "I know you want the flamethrower. And how much. But don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

Lightoller jumped and whirled around to face where his fellow officer's voice came from. But the shorter man was already on his way back to joining Lee and Fleet.

The urge to be sick reared its ugly head again. Lightoller pushed it down again. Watching the Fourth Officer and the lookouts laugh, he wondered if his secret really was safe.

In the end, he decided that it didn't matter. Not so long as he got to caress and hold and use his flamethrower in the end.

* * *

… I have no idea what the hell this is. It's weird. It's unnatural. And I couldn't stop laughing most of the time that I was writing it.

Drop me a line and tell me how it was!

-Thrae


End file.
